The Art of Coping
by krazi little aus
Summary: Set during Harry's fifth year. Harry finds a way to cope with the pain. Unfortunately, he may do himself more harm than good.
1. Chapter 1

THE ART OF COPING

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

Author's Note: Dear me, I never thought I'd be writing another Potter fic ever again! But here I am. So in case anyone is reading this, a few notes, this is a two part fic. So it's only going to be two chapters long. This is an extremely angsty fic, I guess. I'm not entirely sure where it rates on the angst-o-meter, but I'd say it's pretty angsty. I'll finish the story and then explain my rationale for it.

This story takes place in Harry's fifth year. This is a story that has been in my mind for years…like literally at least three years, but I haven't ever thought about writing it until recently. I have not read HP in a very long time so if the characters seem out of character, please forgive me. I have read the first five books over ten times each back in the day (I guess you could consider me an adult now, although I don't) so I remember a lot of the storylines, but if I've made you shake your head at any point, sorry! One last thing, this has not been edited, so apologies for any grammatical errors or weird typos or anything like that! Other than that, thanks for reading, if you read it J

PART I

"Have you got it?"

"Have you got my money?"

Harry pulled out a pouch from inside his robes and handed it to the seventh year Slytherin.

"Fifty galleons, like we agreed," Harry said. "Where is it?"

The tall Slytherin opened the pouch and peered inside.

"Looks like it's all here," he said, pocketing it. He looked at Harry and smirked. "Got to say, Potter, never thought I'd be standing here," he waved his arm in front of himself theatrically, "doing this with you. The way that little snot Malfoy talks…I would have thought you'd more likely turn me in than do business with me."

Harry was growing impatient. The longer they stood here, the more likely it was that they were going to be caught.

"Where is it, Meyers?" he asked brusquely.

Meyers reached into his own robes and brought out a small brown package.

"The instructions are inside," Meyers said, handing over the package.

Harry accepted it and quickly pocketed it.

"Remember our deal, Meyers," Harry warned. "No one can know about this."

Meyers raised his hands in front of him defensively. "Hey, I'm trusting you to keep this secret as much as you are trusting me. No one will hear about this from me."

Harry nodded and went to turn away, anxious to get back to his dorm.

"Oh, Potter, a word of advice."

Harry turned back.

"Be careful," Meyers frowned. "That thing can really mess you up. And not every Slytherin would celebrate your demise."

Xxx

Harry sat cross legged on his bed. Everyone was at Hogsmeade and he was confident that he'd have the dorm to himself for at least another couple of hours. Still, he had pulled the curtains around his bed just in case. The brown package sat in front of him and he looked at it closely. Meyers had told him that it could mess him up. He had seemed sincere. The thought almost made Harry laugh. A sincere Slytherin? Was there ever such a thing?

Dismissing any doubts, Harry leaned forward and opened the package hastily. Inside was a small crystal cube, delicately sitting on a wooden base. On top of the cube was a slip of paper – the instructions Meyers had spoken of. Harry picked up the paper and read the instructions which consisted of only two steps. There was no warning, nothing that cautioned against misuse or overuse or any such thing. Meyers must have been lying.

Harry re-read the instructions again, committing them to memory, and then set the paper beside the cube. Lifting the cube from its wooden base, Harry studied it carefully. It was no bigger than Neville's Remembrall but it was square instead of round. The crystal made it hard to see what, if anything, was inside the cube but it glittered boldly off the curtains around Harry's bed.

"This is it," Harry muttered.

Harry held his hand over the cube, hesitating just slightly before placing his palm flat on the cold crystal. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply in and then let it out slowly. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that the crystal was no longer the opaque colour it had been before, but a mixture of different colours. There was red, green, and the tiniest bit of light blue and yellow. But black and dark blue were by far the most prominent colours present. Harry wondered if this meant he had used the cube properly. Tentatively, Harry mentally retreated into his own mind, searching and felt…nothing.

Xxx

Harry promised himself that he would only use the cube when he needed it most – when feeling nothing was preferable to feeling anything. Problem was, that was most of the time. He found that the cube came most useful in Umbridge's class and in Potions, but he by no means restricted his use of it to just those classes and soon he was carrying it around with him in his pocket, only a swift arm movement away from use. The slightest hint that he was feeling something – anything – he would immediately reach into his pocket, place his palm flat against the cube and breathe in and out steadily. The more he used it, the thicker the colours in the cube became until they sludged about in such a way that reminded Harry of wet play-doh.

At night Harry tucked the cube safely in his trunk, buried under old robes and dirty socks. He didn't think there was any use for it while he slept. He was wrong. Exactly one week after his first use of the cube, Harry woke from a nightmare that had his heart pounding furiously, his breathing quickened so that it stung at his lungs and his throat raw from screaming. He had woken the other boys in his dorm but ignored them all as he jumped from his bed and hurriedly, motivated by sheer panic, ransacked his trunk looking for the cube. He was vaguely aware of Ron kneeling beside him, asking anxiously what he was doing. Harry snapped at him to sod off, found the cube and lunged back into bed, drawing the curtains around him for privacy. He pressed both palms against the cube this time and breathed in and out quickly. He felt the panic and distress leave him almost instantly and a numbness settled on him. He withdrew his hands and was unconcerned that the cube was no longer swirling with an array of different colours but had turned completely black.

Xxx

After that night, Harry slept with the cube under his pillow, a hand always gripping it firmly. Wherever he went, so did the cube, whether it was to the bathroom or to dinner, the cube would be only an arm's length away. He used it regularly, for the slightest hint that he was beginning to feel anything would send him into a panic. Even joy or happiness had become so unfamiliar to him that when he began to feel them his heart rate would increase, his breathing would become shallow and his stomach would start doing flips inside him. The very thought of feeling _anything _would terrorise him with panic until he simply slipped his hand inside his pocket.

He soon began to realise that his thoughts were half of the problem. Thinking would provoke a whole range of emotions and, if he let it, the emotions would only fester until the thoughts inspired panic. He found quickly that without the emotions, the thoughts became simply that: thoughts. Just words in his head that meant nothing and were often so irrational or so ridiculous that he almost felt ashamed of thinking them – that is if he let himself feel the shame. Like all other feelings, shame had become a colour in the cube. When he had finally made the connection between his thoughts and his feelings, his hand never left the inside of his pocket. He no longer gave himself even the chance of feeling anymore.

His calm demeanour, or rather his numbness, had not entirely gone unnoticed by those around him.

"Ron says you don't have nightmares anymore," Hermione said one day over breakfast.

Harry looked at her over his forkful of bacon.

"Not one nightmare," he said coolly. It was a lie though. The cube didn't stop the nightmares, only the emotions that came with them. To Harry, his nightmares had simply become moving pictures with no real significance to them. Cedric falling to the ground with that shocked look on his face meant no more to Harry than a rock on the ground. If Harry ever felt guilty about that, it was snapped up into the cube. His rationalised that there was no point in feeling anything about Cedric anymore. It happened, and nothing he felt was going to change anything.

Hermione looked closely at him, but Harry remained unconcerned.

"Argh!" Ron grumbled beside Harry. "Potions this morning. Merlin! I forgot to the set work from yesterday." He looked expectantly at Hermione.

"I am not giving you mine to copy, Ron!" she said indignantly. "How are you ever going to learn if you keep copying?"

"Come on, Hermione," Ron pleaded. "If I miss another Quidditch practice because of detention, I'll never be any good."

Hermione softened at his words. "Fine," she huffed, pulling out her work from the bag she had at her feet. "But this is the last time!"

"Whatever you say," Ron grinned, quickly taking the work from her and opening it up beside a fresh piece of parchment he had had ready. "Need to copy, Harry?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "I can't be bothered," he said lazily, taking a sip of orange juice.

"You'll get a detention and miss Quidditch practice," Ron warned.

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he said. "It's not like I'm going to need Quidditch, anyway."

Ron and Hermione gaped at him.

"But you love Quidditch!" Hermione objected.

Harry shrugged again. "It's just a game." He finished off his orange juice, stood up and walked off, leaving Ron and Hermione flabbergasted behind him.

Xxx

"Where's your set work, Potter?" Snape sneered down at him.

Harry, a hand firmly placed on the cube in his pocket, looked up calmly at Snape and said, "I didn't do it, sir."

"And why not?"

"I didn't want to," Harry replied, unfazed by the dangerous look in Snape's eyes.

"Well then," Snape said, a cruel smile on his lips. "You may find that motivation you're lacking this Saturday night."

There was immediate protest from the Gryffindors in the room.

"But that's the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match!" Ron cried.

"Oh dear," Snape mocked. "Well looks like Gryffindor better start looking for a new Seeker then." He stared down at Harry. "I expect you in my office by seven, Potter."

"Fine," Harry said simply and Snape walked off with a strange look on his face.

Xxx

"What is wrong with you?" Ron exclaimed when the three of them were back in the boys' dorms. "You didn't even argue with him!"

"What did you want me to do?" Harry asked.

"Anything!" Ron yelled. "But you just sat there! Do you even care?"

Harry sat down on his bed. "Not really," he said. "Neither should you, really. It's not like you're going to make a career out of it. You're not any good."

There was a shocked silence that followed his words. Ron gaped, moving his mouth soundlessly as though trying to find the right words to convey his shock. In the end, he let out a strangled yell and stormed out, Harry turned to Hermione who had stood watching quietly, but who now had a sad look on her face.

"That wasn't very nice, Harry," she said.

"But it's true, isn't it?" Harry replied.

Hermione looked conflicted. "Well, yes, but you don't tell him that!" she said, exasperated. "He's feeling hurt now."

"Well, if he didn't feel, he would know I was right," Harry shrugged.

Hermione gave him a strange look, the same one Snape had worn in Potions.

"Why are you so…cold, Harry?" she asked. "What's happened to you?"

Xxx

The morning of the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game, and Harry's detention, found Harry, Ron and Hermione sitting on the front lawn of Hogwarts eating from a plate they had taken from the kitchens. It had become more of a habit now that Harry still accompanied Ron and Hermione. He felt nothing towards them – no affinity, no loyalty, nothing. He remembered that he once felt something for them, but whatever it was, he had long forgotten it.

Hermione was trying to reassure a nervous Ron that he would perform fine in the match.

"You'll do great Ron," she pushed. "You did great last week."

"That's when we had Harry," Ron pointed out. "He caught the snitch early enough so I couldn't make many stuff-ups. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"I told you I was sorry," Harry said, munching on some toast. It was true. Hermione had convinced Harry to apologise for what he had said to Ron. Harry did not see any good reason for apologising for the truth but eventually conceded that doing so would mean that he would no longer have to deal with Ron's bleeding heart. Or so he thought.

"And if you actually meant it, I'd believe you," Ron snapped. "You didn't even _sound _sorry."

Harry shrugged, a behaviour trait that was becoming more and more noticeable by the days. "No one said anything about meaning it."

Ron's face began to turn red.

"Merlin, Harry! What the hell is happening to you?" Ron all but shouted. "Do you even hear yourself?" He took a breath and turned to Hermione. "I think you were right, you know," he said.

"Right about what?" Harry asked, turning on Hermione.

Hermione looked intimidated but sat up straight and looked at Harry fiercely.

"Harry, it's like you…it's like you don't care anymore! About anything! I haven't seen you smile in weeks, not even one of your 'I'm going to smile to pretend everything's all right' smile. But it's more than that. It's like you don't feel anything. You never get angry, you never get sad or happy. You never speak more than you think is necessary and when you do speak it's like listening to a computerised voice – that's a muggle contraption Ron," she took a deep breath and started again. "And you don't care about any of us anymore! The other day I heard you tell Neville that you didn't think he would pass the O. . He's been fretting ever since."

"If you ask me, Potter did him a favour," a drawling voice came from behind them.

The trio turned to find Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle standing not a foot behind them.

"Go away Malfoy," Ron shouted. "We don't have time for you today."

"I just came by to wish you luck on your game against Ravenclaw today," Malfoy jeered. "I can't wait to see you get hit in the face by a quaffle. I've booked Creevey for the night to take pictures."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed loudly and Ron's face turned a deep shade of pink.

"Are you done, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, turning her back to him. "We're trying to eat here."

Harry watched the exchange silently, wondering why Ron and Hermione were getting so worked up. All Malfoy was doing was speaking. They were just words. Nothing more.

"At least Potter won't be around to see you embarrass yourself," Malfoy continued. "Don't worry, Potter, I'll make copies for you." He laughed. "Oh, by the way, I heard Professor Snape's got quite the evening planned for you. You'll be scrubbing cauldrons until the morning. At least all of Gryffindor tower will finally get a good night's sleep: they won't have to hear you crying out 'No, Cedric, no!' all night." This last bit was accompanied by a loud clap as Crabbe and Goyle high-fived eachother.

Ron jumped to his feet, his wand already in his hand. And animosity he felt at Harry disappeared as he stared down Malfoy.

"Get out of here, Malfoy," he growled. "I've been practising my Transfiguration spells. How would you like toad this time around?"

Malfoy put up his hands in mock surrender.

"Come on boys," he said to Crabbe and Goyle. "Our work here is done." The three walked off, their laughter echoing back to the trio.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione asked, reaching over to place a hand on Harry's knee. "Don't listen to Malfoy. He's just trying to get under your skin."

Harry looked down at Hermione's hand on his knee and then up at her face. She was wearing that strange look again.

"I'm fine," Harry said, taking the last piece of toast from the plate and standing up.

"Aren't you angry at what Malfoy said?" Ron asked, also wearing that strange look on his face.

"No," Harry replied, taking a bite into the toast and waiting for Hermione to gather up her things.

Hermione stood up now too but made no move to gather up her bookbag or the plate they had left on the ground. She and Ron exchanged glances.

"Do you even _care_?" Ron pushed, his voice rising a touch.

"Why should I?" Harry asked.

"Your dad was a giant prat!" Ron blurted suddenly.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped.

"Your dad had a big head and that's what killed him!"

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked. "What are you doing?"

Harry simply stood there, watching as Ron practically boiled over and Hermione wrung her hands in what Harry identified as distress. He knew Ron's words should mean something to him emotionally, but his hand was, as ever, clutching at the cube in his pocket.

"Look at him, Hermione!" Ron shouted, pointing at Harry. "Look at his eyes! It's like he's not there! He's done something to himself. Or someone has done something to him! Look at him!"

Hermione stopped her fretting and stared intently at Harry for the briefest of seconds.

"No one has done anything to me, Ron," Harry said. He knew he should put in a laugh to convey the ridiculousness of Ron's sentence and to assure them both that he was fine, but he'd long forgotten what laughter sounded like.

"Then you've done something to yourself," Ron yelled. "Look at him Hermione. You said it yourself, he's gone cold. It's like he can't feel anything."

"Harry, aren't you hurt at Ron said?" Hermione asked softly, drawing closer to Harry and peering into his eyes.

Harry knew what the right answer was. "Of course I'm hurt," he said. "He's my best friend and he said…bad things about my dad."

Hermione did not look convinced. "You're not there, are you?" Hermione whispered, her eyes suddenly glinting. "You're not in there."

"What are you talking about?"

"You say the words, but you don't mean them," Hermione said, a tear slipping from her eye.

"Of course I mean them," Harry said. "I'm going back to Gryffindor Tower now."

He turned away from them and began to walk towards the castle. Suddenly, he felt a body slam into him and he found himself lying with his back flat against the grass.

"What have you done?" Ron demanded. He was sitting horseback style on Harry. "What did you do to yourself?"

"Get off me, Ron!" Harry still had his hand in his pocket and tightened around the cube.

"Not until you tell me what you've done!" Ron screamed, gathering Harry's collar in his fists and thrusting Harry's upper body upwards. By this action, Harry's hand was pulled from his pocket, the cube still clutched tightly between his fingers and palm. His fist hit the ground on its way out and he loosened his grip on the cube. It slipped from his fingers and buried lost itself in the grass.

"NO!" Harry shrieked, a sudden avalanche of emotions cascading down on him. At the first sign of emotion, panic reared its ugly head. Almost instantly Harry couldn't breathe, couldn't think past finding the cube and stopping any more emotions from destroying the fine balance in his life he had fought to build.

Harry's shout surprised Ron enough that he let go of Harry's collar, but he did not get off him entirely.

"Finally! So you _do _feel something," Ron exclaimed, but any happiness or relief he had felt turned sour when he noticed the panic Harry was going through. "Whoah, Harry, it's okay."

"What's going on?" Hermione surged forward and knelt beside the pair. "Harry? Harry! What's wrong?"

Harry couldn't breathe but he knew that all that would go away if only he could just get to the cube. He turned his head furiously to both sides, trying to find the cube. He spotted it a mere foot away, the sun glinting off its black crystal. Harry tried to squiggle out of the hold Ron had on him, but he was getting weaker from a lack of oxygen and now Hermione had a firm grip on his arm too.

"GET OFF ME!" he yelled and instantly Ron and Hermione were no longer there. Uncaring as to what happened to them, Harry got on his hands and knees and crawled desperately towards the cube. Gripping it harder than he ever had before, Harry breathed in and out as the emotions left him.

"POTTER!"

Harry shoved the cube back into his pocket hastily and turned around, never letting his grip on the cube falter. McGonnagal was running – actually _running_ – across the lawn towards him. Harry stood up and looked around. At first he didn't understand why McGonnagal was looking so angry and then he spotted two figures slumped awkwardly on the ground several feet away. Ron and Hermione.

"What is the meaning of this?!" McGonnagal shrieked, rushing over to Ron first. "Merlin, he's out cold!" She ran over to Hermione and then looked up at Harry. "Quickly, bring Madam Pomfrey. And then wait for me in my office."

Xxx

Harry had fetched Madam Pomfrey and then waited for McGonnagal in her office. He waited for close to an hour before she returned, looking sombre.

"Would you care to tell me what happened out there?" she asked straightaway, standing before Harry with a dangerous look in her eyes.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. It was the truth, or as much of the truth as he was willing to give.

McGonnagal waited, for what Harry didn't know.

"Well?" she asked impatiently.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to ask how they are?" McGonnagal asked flabbergasted that he hadn't already.

"Oh."

"They're fine," she said angrily and then that strange look came over her face – that look that Ron and Hermione were wearing earlier. "They will have a slight headache for the next hour, but other than that…" she paused. "You don't care, do you?" she asked, sadly surprised.

Harry didn't answer. He knew he should care and maybe if he wasn't holding onto the cube in his pocket for dear life, maybe he would.

"I've spoken to Professor Dumbledore," McGonnagal walked over to her desk and placed a small ballerina figurine on it. "He thinks it best if you return home for a while."

"You're sending me to the Dursleys?" Harry asked, knowing yet again he should feel something specific about this. "Am I being expelled?"

McGonnagal shook her head. "No, but we agreed that some time at home may do you some good and cure whatever it is that ails you."

"Nothing ails me," Harry objected.

McGonnagal gave him a cynical look and then pointed at the figurine on the desk. "This is the portkey that will take you home," she said, taking out her wand and placing the tip of it on the ballerina's head. She whispered a few words and then pocketed her wand again. "We will have your things sent to you tonight. I think it best if you leave immediately, so as to avoid questions from your peers."

Harry stood, neither feeling opposed to the plan or in favour of it. He walked over to it and was about to touch it when McGonnagal grabbed his arm at the elbow.

"Talk to them," she said softly. "Let them help you."

When she let go of him, his arm fell and he grabbed at the figurine.

When his feet touched solid ground again, he wasn't ready for it and felt himself falling. Before he could hit the ground, strong arms caught him and he looked up into a familiar face.

"Welcome home, Harry."

"Sirius?"


	2. Chapter 2

PART II

"Your father couldn't get used to travelling by Portkey either," Sirius said fondly, his hands gripping Harry's arms firmly.

Harry blinked away the vertigo as he looked up at Sirius stupidly.

"Here, let me take that," Sirius let go of him and grabbed the ballerina figurine Harry still held.

Harry swayed a little and then gathered his bearings. His eyes followed Sirius as he walked away from him and then away from Sirius as they took in his surroundings. He was standing in Grimmauld Place, in the same bedroom Harry had shared with Ron that summer. Sirius had moved towards the desk to put down the figurine and the sat down on one of the beds.

Before another word could be spoken, the bedroom door opened and Lupin entered, looking particularly haggard. By Harry's rushed calculations, he estimated that the full moon had just ended.

"Ah, Harry," Lupin welcomed, patting Harry on the back.

"Moony, go back to bed," Sirius growled. "You shouldn't be up. I can handle this."

"Nonsense," Lupin waved his hand dismissively, staggering over to the one unoccupied bed and sitting on it. "I'm fine." He settled in and looked over at Harry. "So, Harry. How's school?"

"Fine."

Sirius snorted. "Yes, so fine they send you home in the middle of the semester," he said. "Come now, at least put some effort into the lie.

Harry didn't know what to say. Obviously any objections he made would not convince either of them and there was simply no logical point in putting effort into a useless endeavour.

After some silence, Lupin said, "Okay, Harry, why don't you just tell us what happened then?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know," he said. It was certainly the truth. All he knew was that one minute Ron and Hermione were pinning him down and the next they were gone, lying unconscious several feet away.

"Dumbledore says you blasted Ron and Hermione at least six feet into the air," Sirius said.

Harry suspected that this information should have been important to him.

"Why did you do it?" Lupin asked when Harry didn't respond. "Were you angry at them?"

"No."

"Were you playing a game or practicing spells?"

"No."

"Were you duelling?"

"No."

"Then why in Merlin's name would you do it?" Lupin looked more frustrated than Harry could ever remember seeing.

"I don't know."

"Why are you talking like that?" Sirius asked suddenly, cutting Lupin off from asking any more questions.

"Like what?"

"You haven't spoken a full sentence since you got here," Sirius pointed out, getting off the bed and instead going to lean against the desk. "You answer in one word sentences."

Harry could no longer see any good reason to keep this going. He thought that maybe it would appease them if he answered their questions honestly, but evidently they were not pleased. He could only think of one thing that might make them leave him alone.

"Sorry," he said, urging his voice to sound even a little sincere. He didn't think it worked.

"I don't want you to say sorry, Harry!" Sirius exploded. "I want to know why!"

"Sirius!" Lupin probably would have jumped to his feet if he had the strength to. "Calm down!"

Harry looked between the two. Strange. Before, it was Lupin who was upset and Sirius who was calm, but in the space of a minute things had changed and now the opposite was true. Harry briefly wondered how these men were still standing – surely such sudden change in emotion would exhaust the men. On the contrary, however, it seemed to Harry that Lupin was as alert as ever and Sirius was simply thrumming with energy.

"I answered all your questions," Harry answered despite Lupin's interjection.

They stared dumbly at him for a while before Sirius blurted, "Are you angry at us?"

"No."

"Then explain to me why you've been ignoring my letters," Sirius demanded. "I haven't heard from you in months!"

"I forgot," Harry said. In truth, he hadn't seen the need. Besides, Hedwig had recently taken to pooping all over his mail before she delivered it to him. Harry suspected she was angry at him for something. When he mentioned it to Hermione, she suggested he spend some time with her as he had seemed to neglect her of late. Harry didn't have any real pressing desire to do so, so his mail remained unopened.

"I don't know what to do," Sirius muttered, looking over at Lupin still on the bed.

There followed a silence in which Harry pondered what he was expected to do now – stay here or go back to Hogwarts? He was interrupted from his such thoughts, however, by a large popping noise. On the bed that Sirius had vacated now sat Harry's trunk. He took it as a sign that he was not expected to return to Hogwarts for some time.

There was moment in which the three men in the room stared at the trunk and then in a sudden dizzying second of movement, Sirius had pounced back onto the bed beside the trunk and flipped over the cover.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

Sirius didn't answer, instead he began to fling clothes out of the trunk, hastily shaking them before he let them go.

"Sirius?" Lupin asked, looking a little startled.

"He's not telling us anything," Sirius barked, never stopping from his task. "Maybe there's something in here…"

"You can't just go through my stuff."

"You don't seem to care either way," Lupin commented and he was right – Harry wasn't worried. Even if he could feel worry, he knew that Sirius wouldn't be able to find anything incriminating. The cube was safely tucked in his pocket, his hand clenched around it.

Sirius was now flipping open spell books, flicking through the pages and shaking them from their spines. When he was done, he threw them on the heap of clothes now on the floor.

"Wait!" Lupin was sitting on the edge of his bed but was leaning across the divide of the two beds to inspect Sirius' progress. "What's that?"

Harry stepped forward, peering inside the trunk.

"The Marauders' Map," he answered.

"No, that wooden thing," Lupin said, pointing.

Sirius lifted the Marauders' Map from where it sat and placed it on the bed. Underneath had sat the wooden base that had been used to hold the cube when it was packaged.

"What's this?" Sirius asked, picking it up and showing it to Harry.

Without the alarm he would have undoubtedly have felt at being so careless, Harry was able to come up with a reasonable lie.

"It's a base for a cauldron," he said.

"Wait, there's something stuck to it," Sirius seemed to have ignored Harry entirely and was now trying to pry something from the bottom of the base.

"What is it?" Lupin asked.

"It's a piece of paper," Sirius said, as he got one corner loose. "It looks like it's stuck on with something sticky. Chocolate I think, judging by the colour."

"What's it say?"

"The writing is on the side that's stuck to the base, Moony, otherwise why would I bother – ah ha! Got it!" he dropped the base on the floor and brandished the small piece of paper smeared with chocolate.

Harry knew what it was and clenched the cube tighter. He needed to get that paper. He couldn't allow Sirius or Lupin to read what the paper said.

"What's it say?" repeated Lupin.

"It's got chocolate all over it, but I think I can read it," Sirius squinted his eyes and brought the paper closer to his face.

Harry had to act now. The only thing he could think of was to bluff his way out of the situation.

"Okay, I'm ready to talk," he said.

Thankfully, Sirius looked up at Harry, but he didn't relinquish his hold on the paper.

"Well?" Lupin asked.

Harry knew what he had to do. Over the past few weeks he had observed his fellow peers as they, at one time or another, showed signs of distress. Usually there would be heavy breathing, they would begin to stutter and sometimes, even cry. Harry doubted he would be able to pull off the last display, but he was certain he could play distressed convincingly.

"Harry?"

"It's…" he took a deep breath and started pacing. "It's…Merlin, Sirius. I didn't want to tell you," he took another deep breath and pushed his free hand through his hair for added effect. "I wanted to handle it on my own…"

"Just calm down, Harry," Lupin had that strange look on his face, the one that kept popping up on the faces of those around him. "What is it?"

"Sn-Snape," Harry made sure to pitch the volume of his voice. "I…I can't handle it…"

By the look on their faces, Harry was sure that he had fooled Sirius and Lupin and then Sirius said, "This has got to be it, Moony," he indicated to the paper he still held in his hand.

"It's got to be," Lupin agreed. "Can you read it at all?"

Sirius continued to squint at the paper as though Harry hadn't spoken at all.

"Looks like instructions for something."

"Here, let me see," Lupin grabbed the paper out of Sirius' hand.

"Wait," Harry blurted. "Didn't you hear me?"

"Yep," Sirius said.

"But…" What was that? Was that a...feeling? Impossible! Harry was clutching so hard at the cube he was sure the edges would soon tear into his skin. But his heart rate had just gone up and he suddenly felt hot.

"Two instructions…"

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breath out.

"There's nothing else in here…"

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Maybe it's still at Hogwarts?"

Breathe in.

"Dumbledore said they would send everything…"

Work, damn it!

"It must be on him."

Harry was frighteningly aware that both set of eyes were on him. Sirius stood from the bed and approached him.

"Give it to me, Harry," he said softly, his palm turned up.

Harry backed away. Why was he _feeling_? There was blood on his hand now, he was clutching the cube that tightly. Why wasn't it working?!

"I won't ask you again…"

Sirius was sounding so stern, like he had never sounded before. But that was the least of Harry's worries. He was _feeling_! He knew – just knew – that if Sirius and Lupin would just leave him alone for just a minute, he could get the cube working again.

Harry shook his head, almost violently. He knew what would happen: Sirius would lunge at him and wrestle him to the floor. But Harry also knew that just like Ron and Hermione, Sirius would undoubtedly be unconscious on the floor. It would be worth it if he could keep the cube and get it to work properly.

But it did not turn out that way. Harry felt his arms snap to his side, his back arch and his head propel backwards. He was face first on the floor, paralysed. He felt strong hands turn him over and Sirius knelt over him.

"Was that necessary, Sirius?" Lupin asked.

"He'll forgive me later," Sirius barked.

He began to pat at Harry's body, starting from his chest and moving down. Unfortunately for Harry, the paralysis did not extend beyond Harry's muscles and so his anxiety heightened. He willed Sirius to be blown off him like Ron and Hermione were, but nothing was happening. Had his magic been paralysed too?

Sirius got down to Harry's hips and patted both his pockets.

"His hand is clutching something," he said, dragging, with some difficulty, Harry's hand out of his pocket. "It looks like a black box."

"That's probably it," Lupin said. "Can you get him to let it go?"

"I have to pry his fingers off…" Sirius said, plucking at Harry's stiff fingers. "Merlin, Moony, he's bleeding all over the thing."

Harry felt his panic triple instantly when Sirius finally pried his fingers off the cube and held it up to the light.

"It's not _painted_ black," Sirius muttered, squinting at the cube. "It's like the black is _inside _the cube."

"Let me see," Lupin asked. Harry couldn't see Lupin's reaction when Sirius held out the cube for Lupin to inspect but only a few seconds passed before he heard Lupin's reaction. "Get him up!" he exclaimed. "Get him up, Sirius!"

Almost instantly Harry could move again. He jumped up from the floor and wildly looked around for Sirius who had retreated to another part of the room. Spotting him still holding the cube, he lunged at his godfather. Sirius easily sidestepped him and sent him crashing against the wall.

"Hold it there, Harry," he said, alarmed. "Or I will smash it."

Harry stood paralysed, except this time not from any spell but from fear.

"Please…" Harry couldn't breathe and this time, he wasn't faking. "Please, Sirius. Don't. I'll do anything."

"I guess we've found it then," Sirius said, looking perplexingly at the cube. "What is it, anyway?"

"It's an emotobox," Lupin answered and surprised both Harry and Sirius when he stood, legs shaking from the bed.

"And what is that?" Sirius asked.

Lupin looked at Harry sadly. "Tell him Harry," he said softly, but Harry could no longer speak even if he wanted to. He had begun to shake so violently that it was about to bring him to his knees. But what was most debilitating was the extreme nausea he felt. The very idea of opening his mouth scared Harry beyond belief. And when Harry failed to do as Lupin had bid him, Lupin spoke again. "It's dark magic. It's a box that saps your emotions out of you and traps it inside itself. All one has to do is touch it."

Sirius looked down at the cube still in his hand. "I'm touching it. I still feel…things…"

"That's because it's tailored to Harry now," Lupin explained. "It will only recognise his touch and only take his emotions."

In all the explaining, Harry finally _did _drop to his knees, his arms wrapped around his midsection as he gasped desperately for air.

"Sir….Sirius," every syllable was torture. "Pl-please, I need it."

Sirius looked alarmed at Harry's sudden collapse.

"Where did you get it from?" Lupin apparently did not share Sirius' alarm.

"Moony!" Sirius cried, dropping to his knees beside Harry and placing a comforting hand on his back. "For heaven's sake, can't you see?! There's something wrong with him!"

"He's done this to himself," Lupin said, shaking his head slowly. "Now give me the cube, Sirius."

"What?! Why?"

"So I can destroy it."

"NO!"

In a burst of energy Harry did not think he had, he surged to his feet, knocking Sirius backwards in the process.

"No! You can't destroy it!" The panic he had felt only seconds before had lessened considerably under a new, stronger emotion…anger?

Sirius stood as well and was backing away from both Harry and Lupin who each had their hands out, Harry making mad gestures as he groped at the air and Lupin simply holding a palm out waiting patiently.

"I'm not giving to anyone until someone tell me what the hell it is!" Sirius exploded.

"I told you," Lupin replied. "It's an emotobox. It takes one's emotions and traps it inside itself. That's why Harry's been acting so weird – he doesn't feel so long as he has that box."

"NO!" Harry cried, feeling a sudden impulse to rush at Lupin. He knew that if Lupin were not here, Sirius would see the value in the cube and return it to him. "Sirius! I just need it to help me…I just…it helps me…"

Sirius had that look on his face, that look that Harry couldn't quite identify before. Now he knew what that look meant: it meant Sirius was concerned.

"Look at him Moony," Sirius said, sounding desperate as he stared intently at his godson before him. His godson who was dripping in sweat, who was deathly pales, who was shaking and taking deep shallow breaths, who was, it seemed to Sirius, close to tears. And the only thing keeping him on his feet was his desire for the cube. "I'm going to give it back to him."

Harry knew relief and triumph all at once. And then it vanished.

"You give it to him and you make a mockery out of Lily and James' decision to make you godfather," Lupin said hurriedly. "He'll survive without that box, but he won't if you give it back to him."

It was enough for Harry to lose any composure he had left. He could see Sirius falter at Lupin's words – at the very mention of his parents. And Sirius had been so close to handing the cube over to Harry. He could no longer control it, or maybe he never could control it, but in any case, the anger turned into irrational hatred. It was a deep burning desire to hate Lupin with all of his being for getting in the way. The hatred drove him – it drove him straight at Lupin, fists balled and ready to fight.

"Harry!"

"SHUT UP!" he shrieked, his fist making contact with Lupin's cheek. "SHUT UP! YOU DIRTY, LYING WEREWOLF!"

Harry wasn't aware of anything except Lupin who had staggered away, clutching his cheek and looking horrified. It wasn't until there was a strangled scream and the terrible sound of glass breaking did Harry divert his attention away from Lupin.

Sirius was red faced, angrier than Harry had ever seen him. That was terrifying enough, but what really had Harry reeling was the broken glass that now lay on the carpet against the wall. Broken black glass.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Harry yelled after a brief few seconds of staring shocked at the broken cube on the floor. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!" He began to run at Sirius, now intent on pummelling Sirius as he had done Lupin but was once again distracted from his task by the broken glass fragments on the carpet.

The pieces of black glass suddenly began to vibrate, tremoring to the point that Harry could almost feel the wave vibrations emanating from them. Harry watched anxiously as they suddenly left the floor, floating slightly above the ground. In one hopeful instant, Harry thought that the cube would put itself back together, but as quickly as it had happened, it stopped and the fragments flopped back on the floor motionless.

"Well that was…"

Suddenly, colours of every imagining filled the room. Red, yellow, green, orange, purple. Light varieties of colours and dark varieties. Weird colours that Harry had no name for. But the most prominent was black and dark blue, hanging over the other colours like a dark cloud. Harry was transfixed. So much colours, it was almost dizzying. And then, as if stalking their prey, the colours rushed towards him. He did not have time to react as one by one they entered him. He could feel them. He could feel all the colours.

There was a brief second of absolute ecstasy. He burst out a laugh so loud he was sure his lungs had been sucked of all the air. He was joyful and excited and amazed and relaxed and …happy! He was happy! So happy! He wondered briefly where that came from. How wonderful it felt to _feel _this. To be happy – such a wonderful feeling, he didn't want it to end. But all that barely lasted a minute before other colours rushed at him. These were emotions that he had no name for, much like the colours. He remembered feeling them once upon a time, but he just couldn't put a name to them. They were not uncomfortable and they were not satisfying. They simply were. These feelings lasted longer than the feelings of happiness and joy. It was a reprieve of sorts, to feel these particularly feelings and he revelled in them before his eyes readjusted to the room and he noticed the large mass of black and blue still lingering above him.

He knew what those colours meant. They were the colours that he had tried to run away from. Those were the colours that had forced him to buy a dark magical object from a shady Slytherin in a dark corner of the school dungeons. Those were the colours that woke him from nightmares, screaming bloody murder, and those were the feelings that tried and tried and _tried _to push him to the brink, to the edge. To the edge of his limits…to the edge of his sanity.

"No!" Almost in slow motion he could see the black and the blue come at him. But there was no escape. "NO! SIRIUS! HELP ME!"

But Sirius could do nothing and suddenly they were inside him. They were there ripping him in half. Harry had heard of a broken heart, but he had never heard of broken organs, broken muscles, broken bones simply because he _felt. _It staggered him. He fell to the ground, a broken and heart wrenching scream coming from his mouth. He buried his face in the carpet and banged his hands on the floor beside him.

"Breathe, Harry, breathe!"

But it had all become too much. He had reached his limit. He had reached the edge of his sanity.

Xxx

A/N: Thanks to those who read! Thanks to those who favourited and followed! Thanks especially to Nan7 and Guest who both reviewed! Your kind words mean a lot! I hope this chapter didn't disappoint you and if it did, I apologise!

So I had intended on this being only two chapters, but I'm gonna put an epilogue up and THEN it's finished. I could have put it in this chapter but I got tired of writing and I had wanted to update the story only a day after I released the first chapter so I rushed it out. Sorry if that shows.


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